


Roses and Rain

by firejeon



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Human Trafficking, M/M, Paranoia, Sex Trafficking, Sexual Assault, meow, meow i hate myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firejeon/pseuds/firejeon
Summary: In hopes to save victims of the vicious and cruel human trafficking, Lee Taeyong got himself into deep trouble, and Jung Jaehyun seemed like a devil and an angel at the same time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello people! this is my first work and I didn't actually read and edit much, so please let me know my mistakes and stuff :) kudos and comments are very much appreciated! <3

A soft sigh escaped his lips as his fingers threaded through his hair, eyes following the footsteps of a tall man.

Taeyong had recently dyed his hair a shamrock green, with an excuse of losing a bet to his baby cousin. Everyone who had set their eyes on his hair had either kept their mouths shut with an annoying chuckle, or called him a goddamned Christmas tree and seaweed, and the boy was seriously getting sick of it. If it wasn't for his reputation of being a well-mannered man, he would have thrown each and every one of them out of his door.

His Uber ride reeked of cigarettes. It was pretty much illegal to smoke in a car but apparently, his driver does not give a shit about the law. His chapped lips held a burning-out cigar that later on was disposed out of the window and replaced with another. Taeyong wondered if the middle-aged man had ever heard of something called lung-cancer and was dying to tell him about it, but he held himself back, with the fear of insulting the driver.

"Want one, young man?" his driver asked, the white stick in between his index and his middle. The green-haired man shook his head gently, a small grin tugging at his lips.

It was pretty much silent the whole ride, with occasional puffs escaping past the older man's lips, Taeyong's nails' tapping against each other, and the soft ring of the bell choker on his neck. He liked it this way - serene, with sounds of the world reminding him that he is alive, there to be able to make a difference.

That was the main reason why he wanted to attend the auction.

Anyone who had ties with the prostituting industry would know the annual auction - be it the drug dealers who receive a steady sum of money from clubs for kilograms of marijuana, or pimps who arrange prostitutes' schedules, they would all have heard of the event.

Young, visually appealing orphans and persons under the age of 25 who walked unaware in the darkness of the streets were the stars of the event - usually sold for millions of won that goes in the bank of the organizer. It sounded pathetic and terrifying to Taeyong - girls and boys raised with dreams and hopes that were abandoned twice by their own parents and the deans that they called mom, young ladies and gentlemen with good manners abducted because of how much they trusted the city, sons and daughters of parents who drowned themselves in worries and emptiness.

It is held at some abandoned club in an eerie corner of the city, on the third Saturday of every July. It was Taeyong's first time there - he never wanted to actually attend it, but his curiosity - an unrealistic desire to help and free the poor 'prisoners' were too strong for him to hold himself back. His sister, who just so happened to be the girlfriend of a drug dealer, had agreed to get him the address of the bidding from her much dreadful boyfriend. She definitely had strongly disagreed the first few times but had eventually given up when Taeyong told her his strong yenning to save them. She knew that her brother isn't that stupid to do something too stupid - he was street smart and had self-awareness.

"Young man," the familiar voice brought him back from his thoughts, "you're here."

Taeyong quickly fished out a ten thousand won and placed it on the armrest, clutched his bag and muttered a quick "keep the change" and scurried out of the vehicle. The driver looked at him hesitantly and gave him a smile, and for a moment Taeyong had recognized it as one filled with worry.

A dreadful aura surrounded the low-rise building with its walls decorated in splashes of black paints in a poor attempt to cover up the graffiti. The rotting smell that the place stank of made Taeyong so absolutely sick - it stank of rotting sewage and blood, if that smelled like what he thought rotten blood smelled like. 

He ignored his own agony and entered the building.

Darkness greeted him, with hushed murmurs and his own footsteps echoing off the walls. The metallic taste of blood spread in his mouth as his teeth drew blood from his lips, red staining his inner lips. It smelled a little fresher here surprisingly, flowers and the familiar stench of cigarettes filling Taeyong's lungs.

His eyes quickly scanned the place in hopes to spot someone or light, which he quickly noticed. Quickening his footsteps towards the streak of lights, his fingers tightened its grip on the leather material, tongue rubbing against his teeth. He reached out - skin aching to find something to grab onto - but something else grabbed onto his wrist instead.

The rough fabric pressed onto his skin as someone spun him around, an arm around his waist. Something cold and sharp was pressed against his jaw, a contrasting warm breath against the back of his neck. "No sounds," he heard, mind moving too frantically to make any noises. "Or you'll never get to see the light again."

Taeyong was beyond terrified - his breath hitched the moment he felt someone press against his back, warm palm covering the lower half of his face, cutting off his supply of air. He - the voice was masculine, so Taeyong was certain that he was a male - smelled like flowers, lavender and jasmine, and a part of him told him to submit to whoever was going to abduct him, and another told him to resist and run.

But it felt all too hazy - like a wave of fatigue hit him literally, as if he hadn't slept for weeks. It was all blurry, and he couldn't think straight, should he run, or should he stay still? Should he scream, or should he keep his mouth shut? Should he fight, or should he submit? He should run, should scream, should fight, and he knew. He tried, he tried, he tried, but it was so hard, hard, hard.

He tried screaming, but nothing came out. He tried to run, but he felt like he was lifted off the ground. He tried to fight, but someone held him so tightly, he felt paralyzed. It felt too hazy. Too dreamy, like a nightmare.

Too hazy, and he was too afraid, too tired, too dizzy to move.

-

The first thing he heard was the loud chattering of masculine voices.

"Come on. He literally has such a pretty face," Taeyong heard, wishing that they weren't talking about him for the first time in forever. "We can sell him off for hundreds of millions!"

_What? Sell?_

"Yeah, we can, if you don't mind getting boss' hands across your face. How many times must we tell you that you can't just fucking grab people who are attending this shit? If people - if the police find out about this, we're all fucked, and it'll be your fault, Nakamoto."

He felt something gliding across his face, leaving a trail of warmth behind. "I'd bring him home if I could though, Jaehyun. Just look at him," Taeyong's breath hitched, "so pretty."

Taeyong bit his inner lip. His heart pumped frantically as if it was going to jump out of his chest anytime soon. His jaw clenched visibly, eyelashes battling, body trembling. He felt cold, his naked body exposed to the cold air, breath turning white as he exhaled.

"Hey, pretty boy," a hand gently patted his cheeks, taunting him as a roar of chuckle echoed in his ears. "I know you're awake. Come on, wake up and talk to us!"

 _No, no, no,_ they were the only words the stained Taeyong's mind. _Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt me._

His eyelids fluttered open unwillingly, the face of a young man greeting him. He looked young - in his twenties perhaps. Taeyong wished he never saw this smile or this man at all. He should have just stayed home with his cat, should have gone out to chill with Sicheng, should have invited Ten to Netflix and Chill--

"Hey, fucking answer! What's your name?"

It was another voice, Jaehyun's, perhaps - it sounded so much sweeter, but the trail of dominance and savageness haunted Taeyong, and he froze, jaw trembling.

"Lee Tae-Taeyong."

"Pretty name for a pretty boy, hm?" Nakamoto said, fingertips ghosting down Taeyong's chest. It was only then he realized that they stripped him off his shirt and shoes, leaving his bare feet freezing against the stone-cold cement floor. "We can sell him off for more than a thousand million, man."

_Sell me off? No, no, wait, please-_

It happened all too quickly. The man, Jaehyun, walked over and flipped Taeyong over, and he shivered at the feel of his bare chest and abdomen against the ice-cold floor. A piece of rope was wrapped around his wrist, and it hurt - the more he tugged and moved, the more it rubbed against his skin, and it burnt his skin. The same feeling kneaded against his ankles, and he was being lifted up again - Jaehyun threw him over his shoulder, Taeyong's stomach pressed against the boy bonier shoulder. It hurts, really hurts, and all Taeyong could do was repeatedly punch Jaehyun's shoulder with all his might. He seemed to have lost all his strength, his muscles too weak to even form a fist.

"One more time, Lee Taeyong, and I am going to sell your flesh off to a fisherman for a cent."

_Please help, someone, please help._

Taeyong's jaw fell ajar, but no matter how hard he tried, no sounds came out. No whimpers, no groans, no screams, no cries. It was like a nightmare all over again.

 **Powerless. Pathetic. Weak.** They were what Taeyong would describe himself as in that moment.

Jaehyun's pace was way quicker than his own, Taeyong noticed. The palm that forcefully rested on Taeyong's back was warm - a huge contrast to Jaehyun's colder personality. He smelled of roses and rain, like the warm scent that fills his lungs after a long, light drizzle. Taeyong felt all too weak to respond to the situation, as if his stamina had transferred into Jaehyun, the boy's footsteps quickening. 

"Please, let me go, let me go-" Taeyong managed to choke out, fingers weakly gripping onto Jaehyun's black t-shirt, voice cracking.

The taller man tightened his grip on Taeyong and groaned. "Shut up," he cut him off, cracking his knuckles as he kicked open a door.

He led them inside, with Taeyong's bell choker ringing as he shook his head, resisting the man's hold. It seemed to be a backstage, wherever Jaehyun had brought them to. Many people - or mostly teenagers - sat on the floor, legs hugged tightly to their chests. Their faces were pale, lips dried and chapped, eyes puffed up and strained. Their bodies were merely covers by a ragged piece of jeans for the males or just shorts for the females. Taeyong felt sick to his guts. 

They were faces Taeyong had seen on the news - missing people who were last seen at work, serving drinks to petty middle-aged ladies, frying the last piece of chicken that was never eaten, folding up clothes that were messed up by inconsiderate young girls. They were faces you'd see every day in the streets, cinemas, Cotton On clothing store, or even KFCs. 

"Jaehyun please, please let me go," Taeyong cried out, tears blurring his vision of terrified stares. "Please, please, please," he pleaded, and he swore he heard Jaehyun's breath hitching. 

"I can't do that. This fills up my family's rice bowl," he whispered, fingers digging into Taeyong's back, "I'm sorry."

The next moment was blurry for Taeyong - he felt himself being thrown onto the floor, his back hitting the floor violently, making a groan form in his throat. He was then immediately forced to stand up, an unfamiliar grip on the back of his neck pulling him up. A finger slipped beneath his black velvet choker and pulled him as if he was some damn dog - like a dog being pulled to be slaughtered. 

"Please, let me go, let me go, let me-"

The spotlight was on him. 

Hundreds of pairs of eyes were on him, stares scanning down his body as if he was a roasted duck being hung up, ready to be devoured. The bright light was blinding, and Taeyong had to squint to see clearly with strands of his green hair blurring his view - rows of people sat down beneath the stage he was standing on, smirks sewn onto their faces as gold and silver jewelry hung heavily on their necks and fingers. 

"Aye, aye, dear audiences," a high pitched voice boomed out of the speakers that were placed around the grey hall, capturing the 'audiences' attention. Thousands of emotions went through Taeyong's mind, a sick feeling swarming in his tummy. Their stares burnt holes in his body, leaving him feeling like dust and ashes. 

"Isn't he such a pretty one?" the same voice questioned, bringing thousands of heads to nod with the speaker, "prices shall start with.. six million!"

 _Am I being sold right now?_ That went through Taeyong's head, his teeth clattering together. 

A middle-aged lady raised up her hand, which held a signboard that had the number sixty-eight on it. 

"Seven million!"

Another hand raised. "eight million!"

"Nine million!"

"Eleven million!"

"Thirteen!"

"Twenty million," a deep voice spoke, and heads turned to look into his direction. Taeyong followed.

A moment of silence followed, and the dark-haired man ran his fingers through his hair.

"One," Taeyong breathed in, wishing that this was just a nightmare.

"Two," _please, please, wake up, wake up-_

"Three."

Why can't he wake up? It should be seven by now, his mom would have slapped his ass up to go work, or Ten would have spam texted him to invite him to lunch with Johnny, his boyfriend, but why is he still stuck here?

_Maybe if I feel pain, maybe if I-_

He bit down hard on his tongue, however only the pain and taste of metal followed it. 

And just like that, with his eyes glued to the dark-haired man's, a soft grip pulled him back, a soft scream forced out of his throat. He kicked and he kicked, screamed and screamed, with thousands and millions of 'no's screeching in his head, he cried. Droplets of fat tears rolled down his cheek, leaving a trail of moisture on his skin and down onto the cemented floor. 

_Help, help, help, help-_

He screamed, feeling a rough fabric covering his sight, bringing sole darkness and the hint of light. The same feeling rubbed against his cheeks and his tongue, and it tasted horrible - tastes of blood, detergent and salt explored his taste buds, and he couldn't help but gag, saliva seeping through the cloth, making his cheek feel wet.

It was when the scent of roses and rain hit him again that he stood still, then felt his knees go weak. Pitch black darkness painted his vision and a steady pair of arms caught him when his legs gave up. "I'm sorry," was the last thing he heard before his own mind betrayed him, consciousness slipping away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lust is hazy.

Jung Jaehyun grew up in a small slum village in the corner of the Gangnam District in Seoul, along with his parents and a younger brother. 

Life was harsh for all of them; the rooftop had holes in it every single day, resulting in dozens of buckets being placed around in the household to collect the droplets or merciless raindrops, and Jaehyun would trip over them in spite of the countless of reminders his mother had nagged to him about. 

Their meals were scarce - rice bowls were decorated with dozens of cracks, often only filled with mixed vegetable soup made up of little pieces of cabbage and spinach Mrs. Jung picked up from the wet market's floor, and the luxury of having rice was rare. 

"Here, boys," Jaehyun's father would call out every evening when they all sat around the small chair they called a dining table, "have some more soup."

They went hungry almost every night, but the small talks and laughter on the dining table filled up and satisfied Jaehyun's hunger. 

"The struggle you face today will give you the strength you need tomorrow."

Those words gave Jaehyun the sparks of will to live, and echoed in his mind as the lanky boy with green hair lied still and unconscious in his arms, body heat growing cold.

They paid him well for this job, considering the fact that all he could do well was fight. His brother often got into trouble with the strayed, gangster kids in the school for the stupidest reasons ever, and he was forced to learn how to fight them the hard way. Bruises and scars littered his pale skin, alongside with his baby brother's non-stopping apologies.

"I am so sorry, Hyun," that was the most repeated sentence that ever came out of the younger boy's mouth. 

Thanks to that, he earned enough to keep his family full for three whole months in that one day, with additional funds from his numerous part-time jobs. Way more than what his father could earn a month when he was a seven-year-old struggling with a backpack with holes. Enough to feed his family. Enough to keep them warm. 

_Is this the struggle I'm facing today, or is this the strength I need today, father?_

Taeyong rolled off his arm as Jaehyun threw him into the back of the van, scurrying in along with Nakamoto Yuta and two other men that looked unfamiliar. The bodyguards of the buyer, probably. To his surprise, the man who _bought_ Taeyong wasn't the boss - just his secretary, most likely. 

He had no idea where they're headed to. His eyes were fixed on Taeyong, and the way too familiar feeling of guilt grew in his stomach. His fingers reached out to caress the male's high cheekbones, warmth spreading onto his fingertips along with the sticky feeling of Taeyong's drying tears. 

The ride was a long and heavy one for Jaehyun. Yuta's pathetic jokes rang in his ears for god knows how long, with perfect darkness blinding him as his touch roaming their way sightlessly on Taeyong's skin. It all felt too wrong for him, but his desire - his want - his _need_ to never let his family starve again overwhelmed his morals and conscience. 

You have to sacrifice something to gain something, right?

_Right,_ , he thought, the awful weight of Taeyong and his safety fell into Jaehyun's arms for the fourth time that day. The bodyguards led them down the vehicle and into a basement of what seems like a hotel, with the overwhelming fragrance of cologne making him sick. 

Warm fluorescent lights lit his way up and into a locked room that looked ghastly like a modified prison. It reeked of blood that was attempted to be covered up by the immense scent of jasmine. Jaehyun thinks that he had never breathed in a stench this _sickening_ , and the presence of a dark-haired man with a grim aura had made everything worse. 

The idea of just punching everyone in the face and bringing Taeyong and himself up sparked up in his mind. Jaehyun resisted.

"Put him down and leave," he heard. A foreign accent laced in his command, and Jaehyun complied.

He set Taeyong down, silently wincing at the loss of heat as he stood up straight, eyes never leaving Taeyong's features. Shutting his eyes closed and turning his heels around to face the door, he exhaled deeply. 

"What will you," words rolled out mindlessly and his eyelids fluttered. "What will happen to him?"

There was a moment of silence, and Jaehyun's jaw clenched.

"He'll become mine," _disgusting._ "He already is, though. From the moment I laid my eyes on him, he became mine."

There was a look of lust and obsessiveness in the dark-haired male's eyes, and Jaehyun's nails dug into his palm. 

He couldn't process the other's words. The idea of the man and Taeyong being strangers had struck his mind ever since the auction, and the sudden information of how they've met and possibly know each other surprised him. Disgusted him. 

He considers knocking the two bodyguard's jaw and grabbing Taeyong then run away, but with Taeyong being knocked out and Yuta's lust for that extra bundle of cash they were promised if this goes well, he shakes off the idea.

"Tallboy," he assumed that it was him that was being called, his eyes following up. "Why don't you stay? Your friend and my two employees can go," the dark-haired man suggested, a smirk tugging on his face. 

There was a moment of silence. Jaehyun considers it for a second.

Jaehyun's gentle nod was a cue for Yuta and the two bodyguards to leave, and the male slowly walks towards Taeyong's unconscious body. He squats down, well-pressed dress pants being stretched at his knees, fingertip tracing the green-haired boy's high cheekbone.

"Taeyongie," the unconscious' name lingered in the air for a sick moment before a pale finger trailed down his chest. The man's index slid across Taeyong's skin, down his chest, a faint shadow of abs, and stopped at the metal button of his skin-tight black jeans. 

Jaehyun bit the inside of his mouth silently, teeth tugging off bits and pieces of his inner skin. 

"Tallboy," that seemed to be his nickname for the man before he continued. "What's your name?"

"J-Jung Jaehyun."

"Pretty name for a pretty boy, huh?" the corner of the man's lips curled up slyly, his fingers working on Taeyong's button and then zipped down the fabric, and Jaehyun held himself back from kicking the man away.

"Tell me. What was on your mind when you asked me what was going to happen to my Taeyongie?"

A pang of chills ran down Jaehyun's spine. A mixture of emotions swirled in his stomach, his lips trembling as he brought himself to answer, "nothing."

"You wanted to save my Taeyongie from me, didn't you?"

_Yes._ "No, I didn't."

"Since that's the case," a deep chuckle rang in his ears, and Jaehyun felt a slight pain in his palms as he dug his nails further into his skin. "Why don't you come here and help me?"

_Help you?_

"I don't usually share what's mine, but since you're such a nice boy, Taeyongie wouldn't mind you tasting a piece of him," the man winked, pale hands tugging down Taeyong's jeans down to his ankles and off his bare feet. 

Jaehyun's eyes followed his hands. Pretty, pale, delicate skin followed, muscles bulging against the delicate piece of organ. Milky white decorated Jaehyun's mind, followed by a strange sensation in his jaw and chest.

"You want a taste of him too, don't you?" _No, I don't. No, no, no, no-_ "Want a taste of Ten's Taeyongie."

_Ten._

Fingertips caressed the bulge in Taeyong's black boxers. Jaehyun couldn't react.

Unfamiliar hands Jaehyun stared at for minutes disappeared into the dark piece of fabric. Jung Jaehyun gulped. 

The same piece of fabric traveled down the pair of legs Jaehyun licked his lips for, and his eyes turned away. 

"It's a yes or no now, Jaehyun."

Taeyong's pretty little face surfaced in his mind, as Jaehyun drowned deeper and deeper into the sea he dreaded. The sea of lust. Sea of desires. Sea of things he wished he can have. Sea of immorality. His arms flung around, legs struggling to kick, lungs choked up with saltwater as Taeyong's pretty little face looked down, droplets of water dripping into the ocean water. 

Instincts. His instincts told him to push Ten away from Lee Taeyong, the Taeyong who has nothing to do with him. The Taeyong who's lying on the floor, skin showing, dried tears still obvious. The Taeyong who's looking so peaceful yet hurt. The Taeyong who he knows he should save.

The first thing he could do was push Ten away. His hands pressed against both sides of Ten's shoulder, forcefully shoving him away from Taeyong's lithe body. There was little time before Ten's cold fingers gripped Jaehyun's wrists, the same force being exerted back to him twice as hard. 

He imagined Ten as the bullies his younger brother faced in school, the kids that were once taller than him. Ten was a relatively short guy - Jaehyun could easily tower over him without much effort, and he doesn't look much heavier than Taeyong. Punches can be thrown pretty easily, and so his fists - hands that were tugged away from Ten's grip - threw themselves onto Ten's face, his knee instinctively bringing itself up and hard onto the area between Ten's legs.

Backing away quickly, he picked up unclothed Taeyong and ran straight towards the door - it opened relatively easily, strangely, then he came face-in-face with the two bodyguards who had their eyes on Taeyong's abdomen. 

Legs, legs, arms, head-

His ears rang.

Something wet trickled down his back as his dark shirt clung to his skin, the scent of metal and Taeyong's shampoo diffusing in the air and filling Jaehyun's lungs. His arms trembled a little, the weight of Taeyong that wasn't much of a concern suddenly impacting him. His mind told him to keep moving - and so he did, knees softly but weakly bring him and the pretty boy in his arms steps closer to the stairway he came down from. 

Then another loud bang echoed in the hallway and bounced off the dark walls of the corridors, his jaw clenching hard enough to ache. His chest ached a little, reminding him of the time his baby brother had playfully thrown a painful punch right on his fractured ribs that were so dangerously close to his heart. He winced. 

His fingers clung tightly to Taeyong's skin, eyes focusing on the light shade of green that slightly reflected yellow fluorescent light that lit up the hallway. His knees felt the impact of it colliding right onto the carpeted floor, his arms clutching onto Taeyong as he twisted his body sideways slightly, making sure that the body ends up beside him and not below him. 

He smiles, lips curling up gently as his eyes softly scanned through Taeyong's features. He wondered, what would it be like if they had met on a different circumstance? Can he keep Taeyong safe then?

A soft whimpered escaped from Jaehyun's throat as he watched. Taeyong's eyelids fluttered open slightly, eyelashes battling as his eyes met Jaehyun's, a confused and terrified look on his face inked itself into Jaehyun's mind.

Taeyong's pretty little face was the last thing he sees, and the familiar sound of Yuta's annoying voice along with sirens that he heard along the streets were the last things he heard.


End file.
